


This Is Not Buffy the Vampire Slayer

by Harikari



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Drama, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mystery, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-06-25
Updated: 2012-07-02
Packaged: 2017-11-08 12:18:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/443111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Harikari/pseuds/Harikari
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Beacon Hills is getting stranger and more dangerous by the second. But it's okay, because Stiles has a plan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers: Takes place after 2x04.  
> Warnings: Violence, some gore, strong language, underage character in a relationship with an of age character, etc.

It was lunch time and he and Scott were in the cafeteria, sitting at their usual table.

Scott was frowning and poking at the glob of spaghetti and meat sauce on his tray with a plastic fork. Stiles was sitting across from his friend, trying to ignore the frown and the woe-is-me vibe the werewolf was projecting. His own untouched tray was at his elbow and he was bent over a small stack of papers. He had printed out the first ten or so pages of Grandpa Argent’s bestiary (yes bestiary, not _bestiality_ – he still didn’t want to know what Scott and Allison had been thinking) that morning and was attempting to decipher…something about the confusing jumble of black on white letters, _anything_ about them.

Scott let go of the fork and lifted his arms over his head in a stretch, then hunched forward. He squinted at the sheets of paper and shook his head. “What is that language? Have you figured out _anything_ yet?” He put obvious emphasis on the word ‘anything’.

Stiles glared.

Scott had no right to go all emphasis on him. It wasn’t like _he_ had any answers or bright ideas. Hell, the werewolf hadn’t even bothered to copy the contents of the flash drive they had temporarily stolen from Allison’s grandfather to his own laptop. He’d left all of the figuring out to Stiles.

Which, normally? No big deal. But Stiles had acquired the bestiary on Friday night, after a conversation with Lydia Martin that he had never had the chance to finish and that no doubt left him looking like a total jerk in the girl’s eyes, breaking into and ransacking Principal Argent’s office, and several long and exhausting hours of holding a heavy and paralyzed-from-the-neck-down alpha wolf above water so he wouldn’t meet his end in a high school swimming pool. He had been _tired_ Friday night (or rather very early Saturday morning, which is when he and the others involved in the homicidal lizard incident had finally been able to leave the school), had barely had enough energy to make it home before dropping into bed.

Likewise, he had spent Saturday and Sunday recuperating from the whole being attacked by a giant lizard and almost drowning to death thing. He hadn’t even been able to work up the gumption to take more than a cursory glance at his History textbook on Sunday night, and there was a quiz fourth period.

As if uncomfortable with the intense glare Stiles was aiming his way, Scott squirmed in his seat. “I just…I’m just wondering. No rush or anything. I was just asking.”

Stiles reminded himself that Scott was under just as much (or more, it could be argued) stress as he was, rolled his eyes and turned back to the pile of papers in front of him. He jabbed a finger at the topmost sheet, tapped it.

“I’m pretty sure it’s Latin.”

Scott visibly straightened and leaned closer. “Yeah?” He paused for a second and then, “You’re not just saying that because they use Latin on that Supernatural show with the brothers and in the Harry Potter books, are you? I know there are werewolves and stuff in-“

In a gut reaction and completely straight faced, Stiles kicked his friend’s shin.

Scott mouthed an ‘ow’. He reached under the table and rubbed briskly at his leg.

_As if I’m stupid enough to assume the bestiary is in Latin just because I saw it on some paranormal television show_ , he thought and barely managed to hold back an offended snort.

Stiles felt guilty for lashing out, but didn’t dignify his friend’s idiotic question with an answer.

(He also didn’t bother to inform the werewolf that he had actually gotten the idea that the beast index might be in Latin while watching one of his mom’s old Buffy the Vampire Slayer DVDs, which he still played on occasion and which he had had on as background noise while getting ready for school that very morning – he had googled some of the phrases in the text to be sure it was in fact Latin, hadn’t just assumed it was so because Latin seemed to be the go to language for Buffy and friends when things got strange. Scott didn’t need to know that particular detail, not really).

“See this phrase here? And this one? I searched them both in-between first and second period – they’re definitely Latin. I’m not one hundred percent sure that the entire bestiary is Latin but…it looks similar enough. Not that I’m an expert on languages or anything but…it would make sense.”

Scott nodded and sat back. He had a wary look in his eyes, like he was unsure what exactly he had done to cause the earlier attack on his leg and like he was wondering whether or not Stiles would do it again. “Okay,” he said. “So, Latin. What do we do with that? I mean, _we_ don’t know Latin.”

It was Stiles’ turn to nod. “Yeah, well. I have an idea about that.”

“What?”

“We can ask Allison?”

“ _What?_ ” The outburst was loud enough that a handful of people, including Jackson and Danny who were sitting two tables away, actually turned to look.

Stiles sighed. “Calm down. We don’t exactly want an audience for this conversation. Look, I know her dad forbade you from seeing her again and that her unhinged hunter grandfather is not only our school’s principal but also made it clear he knows you’re a werewolf but-“

Scott cut him off. “And he actually _stabbed me in the stomach_.”

“Yeah,” agreed Stiles. “There is that. But I still think Allison is our best bet. She comes from a werewolf hunting family, man. They pushed archery on her at a young age, right? Well if the bestiary is in Latin and the bestiary, like badass archery skills, is something a hunter has to utilize eventually it makes sense that they would teach her that at a young age, too.”

Scott was frowning again and shaking his head but Stiles pressed on anyway. “We can ask her, at least. And we won’t be obvious about it. I’ll even do the asking, you don’t have to do anything or have any contact with her. If she knows the language I’ll slip her a copy of the beast index and-“

“No,” hissed Scott and his voice was quieter than it was earlier but no less intense. Even more intense, maybe. “Stiles, I know you’re just trying to help. I know I want to know what is up with this giant snake or lizard or _whatever_ monster thing just as much as you do, probably more. But I’m not going to mess around with this. I’m not going to have any contact with Allison at all, for now, and neither are you – because for all I know Allison’s grandfather and dad are together on this stabbing me thing. And Allison’s dad knows _you_ know about werewolves and everything else that has happened, Stiles. He knows where you’re involved I’m involved.”

The lacrosse co-captain trailed off, breathed deep and slow for a few long seconds. Then, “He threatened my mom. I’m not going to risk it. I’m not going to risk _her_. I’m going to keep my head down until we can figure this out, deal with it.”

And Stiles suddenly felt hurt and more than a little angry. He opened his mouth to speak, a harsh comeback for Scott ready on the tip of his tongue-

There was, abruptly and from out of nowhere, the loud clatter of _something_ meeting unforgiving tile. Stiles whipped his head around and saw Lydia Martin standing at the end of the cafeteria table she had been sitting at with Allison and the others minutes before. She had dropped her lunch tray; a mess of spaghetti sauce and balled up napkins and plastic utensils were scattered on the floor before her.

Almost without thought, Stiles moved to help her clean up the mess.

But before he had even managed to stand, Lydia started screaming bloody murder.

\-----

Stiles sighed deeply and squirmed in his seat.

He was sitting on one of the chairs outside of the guidance councilor’s office. A row of empty chairs stretched out to the left of him. He turned that way and down the long hallway, all the way at the end of it where a pair of vending machines stood, could make out the vague figures of Erica and Boyd.

In the half hour or so he had been sitting outside of Ms. Morrell's office the two werewolves had not ventured closer, had not called out any questions or taunts. But they were lurking for a reason, Stiles was sure of it. It wasn’t a coincidence that two members of Derek’s pack had decided to skip their after lunch class and hang out around the snack machines nearest the guidance councilor’s office. No. They were likely there for the same reason Stiles was there – Lydia.

It was probably the bite. Derek knew Lydia had been bitten by the former alpha. The royal freak out the strawberry blond had had in the cafeteria earlier had probably set off alarm bells and now the two betas were sniffing around (no doubt figuratively and _literally_ ) for any hint that the girl’s public screaming and crying fit mean she had finally succumbed to the bite and needed to be urged into Derek’s pack post haste.

Stiles was there because he was worried.

The screaming hadn’t lasted for long. Only about thirty seconds, thirty seconds which had also been made up of several teachers and students crowding around the girl in worry and shielding her from view. Stiles had tried to get close to the girl himself, of course, but had been shooed away by a distracted looking Mr. Harris.

The screams had stopped just as suddenly as they had started and then Mr. Harris and Allison, the brunette girl’s arm wrapped around her friend’s shoulders, had led a crying Lydia out of the cafeteria.

Just as the first bell – the one signaling ten minutes until the end of lunch hour – rang out Stiles had asked Scott to dump his tray for him, grabbed the stack of papers and his backpack from the table and then had followed after the slow moving trio.

And now he was here, skipping a class he really shouldn’t be skipping, hoping that no curious teachers or staff would walk by and ask what exactly he was doing, and waiting for Lydia to emerge from the councilor’s office. He wanted to see her, wanted to know that she was okay.

In a rush of movement, Boyd stood. Stiles tensed.

The large werewolf started walking purposely down the hall. Behind him, still on the floor and leaning against the wall near the soda machine, Erica was sitting with a phone pressed to her ear.

Boyd stopped in front of Stiles.

The second line lacrosse player straightened in his seat. “Boyd,” he greeted. “How are you? Heard you’re hanging out with Derek now.”

Boyd grinned. “Stay away from Isaac’s house,” he said.

Which was…confusing. Really confusing, to say the least.

“Um,” managed Stiles. “What?”

"Isaac’s house, stay away from it. Derek wants you and Scott to keep away. If we learn anything you two need to know or if there is anything you or Scott need to be in on… _we’ll_ let you know. Until then, we’ve got it handled. Got it?”

No. Stiles didn’t get it. Not at all. He had no idea what Boyd was going on about, what Derek was thinking telling him to deliver such a confusing message.

Isaac’s house? Why would he and Scott care about Isaac’s house?

“Yes,” answered Stiles. “I understand. We’ll stay away.”

Boyd glared down at him, no doubt picking up on the fact that Stiles was outright lying to him.

"Derek says," he reiterated, said it in a way that implied an order from Derek should mean something to Stiles.  Then he nodded once, turned around and headed back towards Erica.

Once the tall werewolf had reached his fellow pack member Stiles reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone.

He hesitated for a second, then scrolled to messages and typed out a text.

_I'll pick you up at home_ , he typed. _9 tonight_.

His thumb was hovering over the send button when Mr. Harris’s voice came booming down the hall.

“Excuse me,” snapped the Chemistry teacher, who was facing away from the row of chairs and the office, looking at an oh-so-busted Erica and Boyd. “Shouldn’t you _both_ be in class right now?”

Barely suppressing a startled squeak at the sound of his least favorite teacher's voice Stiles pressed send, snatched up his book bag and went speeding down the opposite hallway, away from Lydia and the councilor’s office.


	2. Chapter 2

It was exactly nine when Stiles pulled up to Scott’s house. The werewolf was already outside, pacing the length of the front porch. He sprinted to the Jeep, yanked the door open and climbed into the passenger seat.

“Hey,” he greeted. Then as Stiles backed out of the McCall’s drive and started for Isaac’s place, “So what’s going on? Is this about what happened at lunch today?”

Eyes not leaving the stretch of road in front of him, Stiles shook his head. “No. At least I don’t think so.”

“Then…?” prompted Scott.

“It’s Derek. Something is up with him and his pack, I guess. Something that has to do with Isaac’s house. I was outside of Ms. Morrell’s office, waiting for Lydia to come out so I could ask her if she was okay, and Boyd came up to me and-“

“Boyd?” cut in Scott. “What was he doing there?”

“He and Erica were ditching class and hanging out in the guidance councilor’s hallway. I think they were there for Lydia, probably trying to judge if it was the right time to ask her to join their little wolf cult.”

“It’s not a cult.” Scott said it quickly and heatedly.

“What?”

“It’s not a cult. It’s a pack. And there would be nothing wrong with Derek having one if he wasn’t going around changing random teenagers into creatures of the night just because he’s lonely or something. And even that wouldn’t be so bad – I mean it’s bad but it isn’t as if he’s giving anyone The Bite against their will – if there weren’t a bunch of hunters running around town trying to _kill_ all werewolves whether they’ve hurt anyone or not, and a gigantic reptile shifter thing also running around town trying to kill werewolves _and_ humans.”

He took a deep breath and rolled his shoulders like maybe he was trying to shrug off whatever it was Stiles had said that had sent him launching into the rant.

“Okay,” said Stiles and the word dragged on a little as he came to a stop at a stop sign, looked both ways, and hit the gas. “But I’m sticking with cult. Because Derek _is_ going around changing troubled teens into werewolves, despite the fact that this town is crazy with people and…well, things, that want to _kill_ werewolves.”

There was a soft growling sound to his right and the second line lacrosse player tightened his grip on the steering wheel.

 _Huh._ So Scott was touchy about the whole pack thing, which Stiles probably should have realized. Pack equaled _good_ in a wolf’s mind.

Stiles bit at his bottom lip with his teeth and turned smoothly onto Isaac’s street. He didn’t take the cult comment back.

“Shit,” hissed Scott and he slid lower in his seat (yeah, as if that would hide him – what a dork) when Isaac’s house came into view. “What are they doing here?”

“You’re asking me?” Stiles immediately turned off the headlights and parked the Jeep a few houses down from Isaac’s cookie cutter looking place, under cover of a burned out street lamp, across the street from Jackson’s house. In an attempt to make out whoever was sitting inside of it, he squinted at the cop car parked in front of the fugitive teenager’s house. “You think my dad tells me these things anymore? I was with Lydia at the dance when she was attacked and had no explanation for why Jackson showed up at the hospital with her because I couldn’t exactly tell him I was kidnapped by an out of control alpha. And then there was the whole incident with Isaac and how he went missing from his jail cell and left that cop slash hunter half dead, and then there was the most recent accident at the mechanic’s garage.”

He pulled his key from the ignition. “Suddenly I’m involved in all of these strange incidents. If my dad was tight lipped before about his police work, he sure as hell isn’t telling me anything now.”

“I’m sorry,” said Scott out of nowhere and when Stiles turned to look at his friend he saw the earlier trace of annoyance on his face had disappeared. “That sucks. I know you hate having to lie to your dad about everything and-“

“Hey,” Stiles cut him off. The hard little ball of anger he had been carrying around in his stomach since lunch, since Scott had snapped at him about his mom being in danger and not being willing to take a risk (it was like he hadn’t even considered the huge risk Stiles had had to take with his father when the Alpha had trapped a handful of them at the school in an effort to get Scott to kill them, hadn’t even considered the danger he was putting his father in lately just by staying friends with the werewolf), seemed to dissolve into nothing. “No worries. We’ll get this kanima thing figured out and then we’ll go back to looking for a cure. And once we find _that_ everything can go back to normal. No more unnecessary risk or worry for your mom or my dad.”

His mouth lifted in a little half grin, but Scott didn’t respond in kind.

Instead, his best friend just stared at him blankly for a few long and tense seeming seconds. Then, “Right. Back to normal.” He turned back to the cop car and frowned, as if in thought. “Maybe we should try sneaking around back. We could start from a couple of houses down and work our way over there.”

“Let’s go,” said Stiles.

As quietly as they could, they got out of the Jeep. They would have to cross at least three yards to reach Isaac’s backyard, and they would have to be extremely stealthy about it if they didn’t want the on-duty officers sitting in the car to notice them.

They hurried to the first backyard and before Stiles could even wrap his head around how he was going to go about grabbing the top of the very tall wooden fence so he could haul himself over it Scott had, in what was no doubt an effortless move for him, gripped the lip of the fence and disappeared over it.

“Hey,” complained Stiles in as loud a whisper as he could manage. “Wait up. We don’t all have superhuman strength and…and jumping powers.”

“Stiles,” started Scott from the other side of the fence but he talked right over his best friend.

“No. Shut up. Hold on. I’ll be right there.”

“But Stiles-“

“I said hold-“

His next words were silenced by a large hand that came from out of nowhere and clamped over his mouth.

“I was just trying to let you know…” came Scott’s resigned sounding voice from the other side of the large fence. “I was trying to tell you that Derek is here. Close. I can smell him.”

 _Yeah,_ thought Stiles, who was now pressed straight backed against Derek’s chest, the smell of leather jacket overwhelming him, a powerful hand held tight over his mouth. _No kidding._

“Stiles?” asked Scott.

When there was no answer, his friend hopped back over the fence. He blanched at the sight of Derek. “Oh,” he said.

 _Oh?_ Stiles wanted to shout. He was being held hostage by a maniac who also happened to be an unstable supernatural being and all his friend could manage was an ‘oh’?

Scott waved vaguely in Derek’s direction, as if to take in Stiles and the hand being held forcefully over his face. “Come on,” he said. (And he didn’t say it in an urgent or worried enough way, in Stiles’s opinion. It was as if the wolf didn’t think the Alpha would actually do any real harm to his best friend. Which was ridiculous because, again, being held _hostage_ ).

Derek growled low and let go of Stiles, gave him a light shove towards Scott.

And yeah, okay, maybe calling himself a hostage in his own head had been a bit of an exaggeration. Although Derek had definitely been pushy and mean and threatening with him before he had never _really_ hurt Stiles. Not really. And he was definitely capable of it.

Isaac was lurking just beyond the young Alpha’s shoulder; he looked pale and wide eyed and no less depressed than the last time Stiles had seen him in his human form. Maybe the werewolf way of life wasn’t exactly working out for him the way he thought it would.

“I told you both not to come. I told you to stay away.” The young man moved so he was in front of Scott, looming over him.

“Well,” put in Stiles and the man’s eyes immediately snapped to him. “ _You_ didn’t exactly tell _us_ anything.”

“I know Boyd told you-“

“Sorry. I don’t answer to Boyd.”

In an instant, a blur of movement almost too quick to see, the Alpha was looming over Stiles. “ _I_ sent you that message through Boyd.”

Stiles couldn’t hold back a snort. “Yeah? Well, I _certainly_ don’t answer to _you_. And neither does Scott, remember? That's part of the whole big problem between us all? Scott not joining you crazies has led to fighting, more threats than usual, general discord?”

At that, Derek’s eyes flashed red for a brief but terrifying moment.

Scott moved so that he was between Stiles and the Alpha. “Look. It’s done. We’re here. Why don’t we all just check out this…thing together.”

“Thing?” asked Derek.

Stiles shifted nervously. He hoped the teen wolf wasn’t clueless enough to give away the fact that they hadn’t actually known what had happened at Isaac’s house that the wolf pack found so interesting, that they hadn’t even been aware of that something interesting before Derek’s insistence that they stay away.

Derek had assumed Scott and Stiles would know about something being up at Isaac’s house – he probably thought that Stiles had already gathered as much from his father. And Derek assuming that was a _good_ thing. It gave Stiles and Scott a bit of an advantage. He didn’t want Scott to give away the fact that Stiles had little to no information at all coming in from his Dad anymore, didn’t want the Alpha to stop inadvertently alerting them to any strange happenings around town that might lead them closer to solving the kanima problem, or the hunter problem, or the ultimate problem of Scott’s curse.

“Yeah,” Scott went on. “Thing. Let’s go already.”

The sour looking werewolf didn’t move for a few uncomfortably long seconds. Then he gave one sharp nod and motioned at the fence. “Fine.”

With a seemingly determined glare Scott turned and in a blur was gone. Isaac was quick to follow him.

 _Great,_ thought Stiles as he watched the shapeless smear of motion that was Isaac disappear beyond the fence. At least with only Scott being there his friend would have likely waited for him to his bumble his way over the backyard obstacles that led to Isaac’s house. At this rate, with the other two there, by the time Stiles managed to reach Isaac’s the werewolves would be finished investigating whatever needed investigating. Heck, by the time he reached the yard both Derek and Isaac would probably be gone and Scott would be waiting for him back at the Jeep.

Frowning, the teenager weighed his options. He really wanted to see what was what at the fugitive wolf’s house. It could be important and, as much as Stiles cared for his best friend, Scott could at times be a bit of an ignoramus and might not grasp the importance of everything he saw.

He didn’t want someone else to get killed, or hurt or anything bad to happen just because he wasn’t able to jump a few fences.

 _It doesn’t matter if they’re gone by the time I get there,_ decided Stiles as Derek easily hauled himself to the top of the tall fence. _I’ll just have a look around myself. And Scott will have to wait for me at the Jeep if he wants a ride back home._

“Well?” came Derek’s deep voice from somewhere above him and Stiles couldn’t help a little jump of fright. He looked up and saw that the young man was staring down at him, an obviously amused glint in his eyes. He was sort of sitting on top of the fence, almost straddling it in what was no doubt a rather uncomfortable position. One of his hands was gripping the fence to keep balanced and the other was being held out in offer. “Are you coming?”

It took a moment for Stiles to realize what was happening. His face turned immediately and embarrassingly red when he did.

Derek Hale was offering to pull him up and over the fence. Which was both surprisingly considerate and excruciatingly humiliating.

_What the hell._

The Alpha wiggled his fingers a little in encouragement and Stiles lifted his own arm up. Derek’s hands wrapped around his wrist in a firm grip and slowly, as if he was being careful and trying really hard not to dislocate Stile’s shoulder or something, lifted.

Stiles expected to be let go of as soon as he had reached the top of the fence. From there, after all, he could have easily hopped down on his own. Instead, the werewolf grasped him around the waist so that they were both sort-of-not-really straddling the fence and hopped down with the teenager still held firmly in his arms.

They landed and Stiles staggered away from the werewolf, breathed deep when he saw that the next fence was a squat little thing only a little higher than his knees. And beyond that was just a bunch of hedges, loose enough that they could both easily squeeze through their bulk and into Isaac’s backyard.

“Um,” he managed. “Yeah. Thanks. That wasn’t incredibly awkward or anything.”

Derek simply rolled his eyes and walked off.

Stiles pulled at his shirt (which had ridden up a little), then hurried after him.


End file.
